Fic: Steady As She Goes (26/86), Blue Cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (26/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1544 this part; [47,051 overall]
Summary for Whole: After an accidental shooting at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart.
Summary this Part: Sam and Gene have another chat.
Rating: still Blue-ish Cortina, uhm, what's slightly darker than blue?
Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, violent imagery, minor drug use, mild sexual situations, self-harm for whole
Spoilers: none here; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Dare I say this bit is (mostly) less angsty? I'm not even sure if I wrote it...
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52 Part 53 Part 54 Part 55 Part 56 Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60 Part 61 Part 62 Part 63 Part 64 Part 65 Part 66 Part 67 Part 68 Part 69 Part 70 Part 71 Part 72 Part 73 Part 74 Part 75 Part 76 Part 77 Part 78 Part 79 Part 80 Part 81 Part 82 Part 83 Part 84 Part 85 Part 86
Sam groggily opened his eyes allowing the outside world to seep into focus. He shifted his back, hearing his spine adjust and crack. He tried to sit up, then realized with surprise that the bed was already propped in an upright position. He was also very, very damp.
"You’re s’posed to eat this."
Sam looked to his left and saw Gene kicking a rolling tray holding some lumpy oatmeal towards Sam’s lap, while reclining in the plastic chair and flipping through the day’s newspaper.
"What is it?" Sam questioned wearily, pulling the tray towards him.
"Don’ know. Thought you liked all that fancy foreign shit." Gene huffed and turned a page.
Sam sniffed the lumpy mass. "Foreign. Not bloody alien. Did Chris have to eat this? No wonder he healed so fast." Sam pushed the tray away and rubbed a hand across his still sore chest. "What time is it?"
"Nearly ten," Gene responded without even checking his watch.
"In the morning? You been here all night?"
"No," Gene stated a little too abruptly. He folded the paper and threw it to the side. Sam cringed as he watched Gene pull a file from under his backside, where he’d been sitting on it for God knows how long, and chucked it on Sam’s lap. "Wanted you to get a head start on that mess soon’s you came to."
Sam turned the file the right way round and started flipping through the pages. "You could’ve asked the nurse to tell me."
"Trust that lot ‘bout as far as Chris could throw ‘em." Gene scoffed as he examined Sam’s bowl of food. "You’re s’posed to eat that," he said again.
"No."
"Tyler."
"I’d sooner kiss Ray then put that to my lips."
Gene stood and tried to appear menacing as he hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. "Call ‘im over then, shall I?"
Sam sighed and set the file down. Just speaking to Gene was exhausting, let alone arguing with him. Gene pushed the food back towards its unwilling victim. "Eat it."
"You’re not my father." Sam thought he’d said it jokingly, but the look in Gene’s eye made his stomach twist. "Fine. But I can’t promise I’ll finish the whole thing," he added by way of apology, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for.
"An’ I can’t promise I won’t kick you in the arse soon’s you get out of here," Gene grumbled as he plopped back down in the chair and grabbed the newspaper from the floor. "Picky pain."
"Neanderthal," Sam retaliated as his weak arm lifted a small bit of oatmeal to his mouth.
"Don’t start fights you don’t have the strength to finish, Tyler." Gene concentrated heavily on the sports section while Sam struggled to feed himself. Gene cleared his throat. "Fever broke, by the way."
"What fever?" Sam was happy to have an excuse to stop spooning the tasteless lumps down his throat.
"One you’ve had the past two days." Gene didn’t even blink. Sam’s spoon clattered to the tray.
"Two days?"
Gene looked up to make sure the noise had been caused by the spoon and not Sam’s jaw falling off its hinges. It was a close call.
"Minor infection, what the doctor called it."
"Jayne?"
"Moyer."
"Who’s he?"
"The doctor you nonce. Thought you were a detective."
"I’ve never met him."
"That’s cos you’ve been knackered out of your skull the past two days."
"With fever?"
"No, with happy grass and monkey’s balls. Course with fever." Gene went back to the newspaper, reading the same page he’d been staring at all morning. "God you used to be smart. That thing of yours working properly?"
Sam pushed the tray away, hoping he’d eaten enough to satisfy his Guv, and looked back at the file. "I hope you’re referring to my brain."
"Fairy."
"Homophobe."
They glared at their respective papers in silence. By the time Sam reached the end of the file he felt like he’d been awake for hours, even though he knew it’d only been a few minutes. He shut the file and sighed in such a way Gene thought he’d just finished War and Peace.
"This everything?" Sam asked when he finally found the energy.
"On Sanders and Quibell, yeah."
"But not on me."
"That’s a different case."
"How?"
"It has its own little file, with a nice little label and it’s put away in the ‘pain in me arse’ cabinet with all the other shit I shouldn’t have to deal with."
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache was returning and unconsciousness was looking like a great option at the moment. "That’s not what I meant."
"You don’t need to see it." Gene said quietly. For the second time that morning Sam was thrown by his Guv’s unusual reaction.
"How bad was it?"
"Bad."
"How?"
"You were in a coma for a month, Sam. An’ you’re still in hospital. You tell me."
"I’ll have to see the file one day. Especially if the case goes to trial--"
"It can’t if we don’t find them, Sam." When Gene had first presented Tyler with the file two days ago, before the fever had sent him back to La La Land, he’d had to admit they hadn’t caught the bastards yet. Sam had taken the news quietly, no discernible reaction. Gene had expected, had wanted, him to scream and curse and demand answers, but Sam hadn’t. He’d only sat there in bed, taking it all in before calmly telling Gene that he was sure they’d done their best. The lack of emotion in the DI’s voice had scared Gene enough to make him contemplate putting Sam back in the restraints. Then the fever had come, sending Sam into a fit of pain and nightmares and screaming, and Gene had forgotten all about the case.
A small pit of what Gene refused to acknowledge as despair reappeared as he saw that same passive look pass over Sam’s face.
"We will." Sam responded so mechanically Gene wanted to slap him just to get a proper reaction out of him. It was gone as soon as it had come and Gene watched Sam’s body return to normal as he flipped through the file again. "So, fever’s gone?"
"You sweated buckets last night. Nurse said. Either that was your fever breaking or you’ve got an interesting way of bathing." Gene would never tell Sam how bad it had been. How many nightmares Gene had watched Sam suffer. Sam didn’t need to know all that.
"And the withdrawal?"
Gene noticed Sam’s nerves starting to get the better of him as the paper he was holding began to quake. Sam noticed too and set the file down.
"Most part. Was only goin’ to be mild anyway. Weren’t on ‘em that long."
"Good."
"Good," Gene agreed. They sat there in silence, both unsure why the situation had become so awkward. "Best be gettin’ back to the station." Gene dropped his newspaper on Sam’s bed and threw on his coat.
"Yeah. Right." Sam didn’t look up from the file.
"Oh, by the way, anyone you want us to contact?"
"Sorry?" It was an obvious enough question, Gene thought. He and Sam asked it all the time. Sam shouldn’t look so surprised that Gene was offering to call family for him. Maybe Tyler hadn’t heard him properly.
"You know. Mum. Dad. Boyfriend. That sort of thing." Gene lit a cigarette to hide his eagerness for a response.
"I don’t, nor have I ever had, a boyfriend."
"Broke up with yeh, did he? Shame that."
Sam shook his head and preoccupied himself with the file that he already almost knew by heart.
"So?" Gene prodded.
"So what?"
Gene could see Sam getting frustrated now, and it wasn’t over the boyfriend comment. "Mum an’ dad. They over in Hyde?"
"No."
"Manchester."
"No."
"Down South then..."
"They’re not here." There was a finality in Sam’s voice that made even Gene uncomfortable.
"Right." Gene had almost flung open the door when Sam stopped him.
"What’s the date?" Sam’s voice returned to its normal inquisitive, conversational tone.
"16th. April...1973." He added quietly.
"What?"
Gene regarded him seriously. "It’s 1973, Sam."
"Yeah. I know." He stated nervously. "What else would it be?" Sam hoped that last sentence had come across sarcastically. By Gene’s expression he wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded.
"Right. Off to the station. Eat your gruel. Solve my case."
"Yes Guv."
As soon as Gene was gone Sam collapsed his head on the pillow, covering his face with his hands. Clearly whatever he’d said during his fever was not helping to assure his sanity. Gene had said he’d gone home, though. Whatever he must have said had to have been relayed to the Guv by a nurse, and Gene didn’t think too highly of the medical staff here.
Sam closed the file and set it aside, then reached for the paper Gene left on the bed. At least he could catch up with the day’s news. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so cut off.
Sam felt an odd mix of panic and comfort when he noticed the newspaper was not today’s, but two days old.
Gene hadn’t gone home.
So what, in his fevered state, had Sam admitted to the man?
_____________
Part 27
Author: dak
Word Count: 1544 this part; [47,051 overall]
Summary for Whole: After an accidental shooting at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart.
Summary this Part: Sam and Gene have another chat.
Rating: still Blue-ish Cortina, uhm, what's slightly darker than blue?
Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, violent imagery, minor drug use, mild sexual situations, self-harm for whole
Spoilers: none here; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Dare I say this bit is (mostly) less angsty? I'm not even sure if I wrote it...
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52 Part 53 Part 54 Part 55 Part 56 Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60 Part 61 Part 62 Part 63 Part 64 Part 65 Part 66 Part 67 Part 68 Part 69 Part 70 Part 71 Part 72 Part 73 Part 74 Part 75 Part 76 Part 77 Part 78 Part 79 Part 80 Part 81 Part 82 Part 83 Part 84 Part 85 Part 86
Sam groggily opened his eyes allowing the outside world to seep into focus. He shifted his back, hearing his spine adjust and crack. He tried to sit up, then realized with surprise that the bed was already propped in an upright position. He was also very, very damp.
"You’re s’posed to eat this."
Sam looked to his left and saw Gene kicking a rolling tray holding some lumpy oatmeal towards Sam’s lap, while reclining in the plastic chair and flipping through the day’s newspaper.
"What is it?" Sam questioned wearily, pulling the tray towards him.
"Don’ know. Thought you liked all that fancy foreign shit." Gene huffed and turned a page.
Sam sniffed the lumpy mass. "Foreign. Not bloody alien. Did Chris have to eat this? No wonder he healed so fast." Sam pushed the tray away and rubbed a hand across his still sore chest. "What time is it?"
"Nearly ten," Gene responded without even checking his watch.
"In the morning? You been here all night?"
"No," Gene stated a little too abruptly. He folded the paper and threw it to the side. Sam cringed as he watched Gene pull a file from under his backside, where he’d been sitting on it for God knows how long, and chucked it on Sam’s lap. "Wanted you to get a head start on that mess soon’s you came to."
Sam turned the file the right way round and started flipping through the pages. "You could’ve asked the nurse to tell me."
"Trust that lot ‘bout as far as Chris could throw ‘em." Gene scoffed as he examined Sam’s bowl of food. "You’re s’posed to eat that," he said again.
"No."
"Tyler."
"I’d sooner kiss Ray then put that to my lips."
Gene stood and tried to appear menacing as he hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. "Call ‘im over then, shall I?"
Sam sighed and set the file down. Just speaking to Gene was exhausting, let alone arguing with him. Gene pushed the food back towards its unwilling victim. "Eat it."
"You’re not my father." Sam thought he’d said it jokingly, but the look in Gene’s eye made his stomach twist. "Fine. But I can’t promise I’ll finish the whole thing," he added by way of apology, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for.
"An’ I can’t promise I won’t kick you in the arse soon’s you get out of here," Gene grumbled as he plopped back down in the chair and grabbed the newspaper from the floor. "Picky pain."
"Neanderthal," Sam retaliated as his weak arm lifted a small bit of oatmeal to his mouth.
"Don’t start fights you don’t have the strength to finish, Tyler." Gene concentrated heavily on the sports section while Sam struggled to feed himself. Gene cleared his throat. "Fever broke, by the way."
"What fever?" Sam was happy to have an excuse to stop spooning the tasteless lumps down his throat.
"One you’ve had the past two days." Gene didn’t even blink. Sam’s spoon clattered to the tray.
"Two days?"
Gene looked up to make sure the noise had been caused by the spoon and not Sam’s jaw falling off its hinges. It was a close call.
"Minor infection, what the doctor called it."
"Jayne?"
"Moyer."
"Who’s he?"
"The doctor you nonce. Thought you were a detective."
"I’ve never met him."
"That’s cos you’ve been knackered out of your skull the past two days."
"With fever?"
"No, with happy grass and monkey’s balls. Course with fever." Gene went back to the newspaper, reading the same page he’d been staring at all morning. "God you used to be smart. That thing of yours working properly?"
Sam pushed the tray away, hoping he’d eaten enough to satisfy his Guv, and looked back at the file. "I hope you’re referring to my brain."
"Fairy."
"Homophobe."
They glared at their respective papers in silence. By the time Sam reached the end of the file he felt like he’d been awake for hours, even though he knew it’d only been a few minutes. He shut the file and sighed in such a way Gene thought he’d just finished War and Peace.
"This everything?" Sam asked when he finally found the energy.
"On Sanders and Quibell, yeah."
"But not on me."
"That’s a different case."
"How?"
"It has its own little file, with a nice little label and it’s put away in the ‘pain in me arse’ cabinet with all the other shit I shouldn’t have to deal with."
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache was returning and unconsciousness was looking like a great option at the moment. "That’s not what I meant."
"You don’t need to see it." Gene said quietly. For the second time that morning Sam was thrown by his Guv’s unusual reaction.
"How bad was it?"
"Bad."
"How?"
"You were in a coma for a month, Sam. An’ you’re still in hospital. You tell me."
"I’ll have to see the file one day. Especially if the case goes to trial--"
"It can’t if we don’t find them, Sam." When Gene had first presented Tyler with the file two days ago, before the fever had sent him back to La La Land, he’d had to admit they hadn’t caught the bastards yet. Sam had taken the news quietly, no discernible reaction. Gene had expected, had wanted, him to scream and curse and demand answers, but Sam hadn’t. He’d only sat there in bed, taking it all in before calmly telling Gene that he was sure they’d done their best. The lack of emotion in the DI’s voice had scared Gene enough to make him contemplate putting Sam back in the restraints. Then the fever had come, sending Sam into a fit of pain and nightmares and screaming, and Gene had forgotten all about the case.
A small pit of what Gene refused to acknowledge as despair reappeared as he saw that same passive look pass over Sam’s face.
"We will." Sam responded so mechanically Gene wanted to slap him just to get a proper reaction out of him. It was gone as soon as it had come and Gene watched Sam’s body return to normal as he flipped through the file again. "So, fever’s gone?"
"You sweated buckets last night. Nurse said. Either that was your fever breaking or you’ve got an interesting way of bathing." Gene would never tell Sam how bad it had been. How many nightmares Gene had watched Sam suffer. Sam didn’t need to know all that.
"And the withdrawal?"
Gene noticed Sam’s nerves starting to get the better of him as the paper he was holding began to quake. Sam noticed too and set the file down.
"Most part. Was only goin’ to be mild anyway. Weren’t on ‘em that long."
"Good."
"Good," Gene agreed. They sat there in silence, both unsure why the situation had become so awkward. "Best be gettin’ back to the station." Gene dropped his newspaper on Sam’s bed and threw on his coat.
"Yeah. Right." Sam didn’t look up from the file.
"Oh, by the way, anyone you want us to contact?"
"Sorry?" It was an obvious enough question, Gene thought. He and Sam asked it all the time. Sam shouldn’t look so surprised that Gene was offering to call family for him. Maybe Tyler hadn’t heard him properly.
"You know. Mum. Dad. Boyfriend. That sort of thing." Gene lit a cigarette to hide his eagerness for a response.
"I don’t, nor have I ever had, a boyfriend."
"Broke up with yeh, did he? Shame that."
Sam shook his head and preoccupied himself with the file that he already almost knew by heart.
"So?" Gene prodded.
"So what?"
Gene could see Sam getting frustrated now, and it wasn’t over the boyfriend comment. "Mum an’ dad. They over in Hyde?"
"No."
"Manchester."
"No."
"Down South then..."
"They’re not here." There was a finality in Sam’s voice that made even Gene uncomfortable.
"Right." Gene had almost flung open the door when Sam stopped him.
"What’s the date?" Sam’s voice returned to its normal inquisitive, conversational tone.
"16th. April...1973." He added quietly.
"What?"
Gene regarded him seriously. "It’s 1973, Sam."
"Yeah. I know." He stated nervously. "What else would it be?" Sam hoped that last sentence had come across sarcastically. By Gene’s expression he wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded.
"Right. Off to the station. Eat your gruel. Solve my case."
"Yes Guv."
As soon as Gene was gone Sam collapsed his head on the pillow, covering his face with his hands. Clearly whatever he’d said during his fever was not helping to assure his sanity. Gene had said he’d gone home, though. Whatever he must have said had to have been relayed to the Guv by a nurse, and Gene didn’t think too highly of the medical staff here.
Sam closed the file and set it aside, then reached for the paper Gene left on the bed. At least he could catch up with the day’s news. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so cut off.
Sam felt an odd mix of panic and comfort when he noticed the newspaper was not today’s, but two days old.
Gene hadn’t gone home.
So what, in his fevered state, had Sam admitted to the man?
_____________
Part 27